Tomorrow I am leaving for Manila. Tomorrow I will get up at an ungodly hour and drive to Logan airport and get on an airplane. And then I will throw up and pray to Jesus. And then throw up some more. And pray again. And then I’ll die. I’m pretty sure this is the arc my life story is about to take. And you know what? I’ve accepted it. I’ve made peace with my impending death and have moved on to funeral plans.
I am obsessed with This American Life. I want to make sweet, sweet love to Ira Glass while he tells me funny and thought provoking stories about things that seem one way but are actually another way, and after coitus I’ll look over at him and be all, “Life is so complicated. And fascinating. Here’s a one thousand dollar donation to public radio.” Anywho, earlier this week I was listening to an old episode of This American Life and there was this story about funerals, and more specifically people who prior to death make video messages that will be played at their funerals. Or something like that. To be honest I was writing while listening to the story in the background so there’s a distinct possibility that I imagined at least a portion of that. This story (or hallucination) totally inspired me and so I have decided to make a video message that will be played at my funeral after my inevitable travel related death. There is just one minor problem, I have already packed my video camera. You’re probably wondering why I packed my video camera if I plan on dying tomorrow, and the answer is simple and predictable, Ben made me pack. Even after I explained that I’m definitely going to die on this trip. Ira Glass would never do that.
Since I am cameraless at the moment I am going to instead write a farewell letter, full of wisdom and other stuff. And here we go:
Dearest People Who Loved Me,
First off let me thank you for coming to my funeral. You look pretty today. Black suits you.
I want you to know that I am not in a better place. Do not comfort yourself with lame platitudes like,
“Jill is with Jesus now.”
or
“Jill wouldn’t want you to be sad.”
or
“Jill would want you to move on.”
None of these things are true. I have an entire blog dedicated to derisive Jesus jokes. I am not with Jesus. Jesus is totally punishing me right now. Also, I want you to be sad and never move on. I have no children, the only way I will live on is through your grief. Everyday should begin with crying, fist shaking at the sky, and proclamations of never ending sadness. And now that I am dead I am like Santa Claus, I see all, I know all. I know when you are sleeping and awake, but more importantly I know if you are moving on, and so help me Jesus if you even try to move on I will totally haunt you. Have you seen Paranormal Activity? Because I will make that shit look like a goddamn fairy tale. Any money you were planning on spending on therapy, you should instead spend on building a shrine. My favorite color is a sunny yellow and I love puppies, so yellow puppies should be the a central theme to the shrine. Also, you will see a merchandise table by the casket where you can purchase a variety of shrine-approved photos.
In closing, I love you all, but that will not stop me from ruining your life if you do not properly mourn.
Love,
Jill
Production Note: This letter should be read by someone with a rich baritone with Ginuwine’s My Pony playing softly in the background.
Also, I leave all of my earthly belongings to my new godson. Yes, you read that correctly, my gorgeous friend Danielle and her very handsome husband Mike asked Ben and I to be godparents. That happened. In real life. And, in all seriousness, we couldn’t be happier.
In conclusion, the end.
I realize I’m a little late to the party, 3 days late. Forgive me.
Currently I am married to this gorgeous man.
These days Valentine’s Day is a fun affair. This year Ben bought me flowers and chocolates and he made me a lobster dinner. But that’s not what this is about. No, this is about one particular horrible pre-Ben Valentine’s Day.
We have all dated someone completely embarrassing, right? Personally, I dated about 30 embarrassing guys, but I’m kind of an overachiever. The most cringe-worthy guy I dated was a snow board instructor/local television producer. You read that correctly, local television producer. He was kind of a big deal. We’ll call him Mark.
Mark was really weird and if I hadn’t been so drunk the first few times I saw him, I would have noticed this earlier. I met Mark at a bar in Boston . I was with one of my girlfriends and as we walked out of the bar he stopped me and asked in I knew how to ice skate. In my buzzed state I thought this question was hilarious, so in lieu of answering I just laughed. He persisted, and I told him that no, I did not know how to ice skate. Mark then asked me if I wanted to learn. I said sure, we exchanged numbers and I went on my drunken way.
Fast forward to our first date. It was the end of January and Mark took me ice skating at Frog Pond in Boston . I was petrified. The thing is, I’m terribly uncoordinated even when I’m not on ice. I didn’t see how this could possibly end well, so I did what any other reasonable 24 year old woman would do, I got just shy of drunk before our date. Needless to say that this did not help improve my ice skating skills.
The first date had gone well enough that, despite my inebriation and lack of skating abilities, Mark asked me out again. This time we were going out to dinner and (get ready for it) drinks, so there was no need for me to show up to this date already half in the bag. Or so you would think. Well, we were meeting up later in the evening on a Friday, so rather than going back to my apartment after work and then trekking back out to Back Bay to meet up with him, I decided to stay in Back Bay and grab some drinks with co-workers before my date. Are you keeping track? Because I’ve now seen this guy three times, none of them sober.
Apparently I’m charming when I drink because he asked me out yet again. For our third date, I decided to switch it up and not pregame like a Penn State frat boy. Through the haze I always had a good time with Mark. He was funny and cute, so I decided to actually show up to a date in my right mind. This was a horrible idea. I learned Mark’s funny cuteness was directly proportional to my drunkenness. The date was going horribly. Mark was a close talker. And he whispered everything in a way that he seemed to think was sexy, but was actually kind of scary. He also liked to give odd compliments, like, “You have great posture, it’s really sexy.” I decided to remedy the situation with copious amounts of alcohol. And sure enough, the more I drank the less he reminded me of a child molester.
But I miscalculated. I drank too much, therefore making him too charming, therefore making me go back to his apartment, therefore resulting in this little tableau:
Mark walks into his bedroom after having gotten me a glass of water. I am sitting on Mark’s bed. Mark dances in front of me like a burlesque dancer. He is totally serious. He has his sexy face on. Marc begins stripping his clothes off. The dancing is now accompanied by singing. Sexy singing. Singing a montage of Beatle’s songs. He gets down to his boxers which he thankfully leaves on. He dances over to his closet where he removes black pleather pants. Marc shimmies into the black pleather pants and starts singing an old STP song. He continues to dance around the room, signing. When he finally stops its to tell me that he wants to be a rock star. Then he proceeds to show me his awesome rock star poses. I die a little on the inside.
Before I go on, let me explain that this happened in real life. This happened to me. I endured this.
Right about this point I realized that there was not enough booze in the entirety of Ireland to make what had just happened sexy. I feigned sick and left quickly. But the story does not end here.
Fast forward to Valentine’s Day. I walked out of my office at the end of the day and who do I find waiting for me with flowers? Mark. And hey, guess what else? He smells awful. So, yeah… Marc walks up to me, gives me the flowers, kisses me on the cheek, and generally acts like this is completely normal. Have you ever been in a horribly awkward situation and the awkwardness is so massive that it overwhelms and paralyzes you? Because that is totally what happened to me. I tried to make my brain work, screaming at it to think of a goddamned exit strategy, but all I was getting was:
What I’m trying to tell you is that I went to dinner with this guy. After he danced in leather pants. I did that. And I’m not proud. And actually it gets worse, because I kind of, sort of, kept on seeing him for a month or so after that. And he wore the leather pants again. On multiple occasions. And once he asked one of my girlfriends if she had a penis. And the smell? Not a one time thing.
The end
There is probably nothing I hate more than when someone forwards me some asinine email about crime rates, or people of Walmart, or a video of some kid dancing to some piece of music that makes my ears bleed. Lets just all agree that the Internet is a truly awesome place, full of wonder and knowledge and bare naked breasts, and furthermore lets agree that we should all be free to peruse the Internet at our leisure looking for interesting shit. Please, I beg of you, do not send me a mass email about how Obama isn’t really an American citizen and how we should probably just go ahead and overthrow the government now. If I’m interested in a coup, I’ll do the research myself, I don’t need to be recruited by my 92 year old great aunt.
In my life there are several different classes of mass emailers and they are all horrible and rage-inducing in unique ways. Lets take a look at these special snowflakes:
The Conservative Family Member Mass Emailer
Disclaimer: I live in New Hampshire. Our state motto is LIVE FREE OR DIE and I’m totally down with that. I’m not a Democrat, I’m not a Republican. I do not like getting political propaganda email from either party. Just wanted to clarify so that I don’t get any nasty emails from any of my more conservative friends.
As I’ve just indicated, I do not want any viral email about any party’s political agenda coming into my inbox, but I must say that I’ve noticed a distinct difference in the volume of right-wing vs. left-wing emails. I may have a skewed sense of things because I have a crazy aunt who I’m pretty sure is secretly Dick Cheney. (Lets just say I’ve never seen them in the same room together, suspicious.) This crazy aunt loves to send me and everyone she has ever met, and probably some people she hasn’t, emails about her three favorite topics: Jesus, Obama as Satan, Sarah Palin. If you are lucky enough to have never met my aunt, or Dick Cheney, and if you’ve avoided the Conservative Mass Email Epidemic thus far, let me give you a quick synopsis:
Obama was not born in America, but was instead pushed from the loins of the Devil in the deep fiery pits of hell. The liberal media is not reporting this story because they are liberal. And evil. LET PEOPLE KNOW THE TRUTH! Email this to everyone you know so that we can amass a great army to defeat the liberal agenda of forward progress!
This random person that someone knows got really sick, and then she and her family prayed to Jesus, and then she got better. But only after she declared herself saved and started donating 10% gross to the CBN. Go Jesus! Forward this email to everyone you know so that we can spread the word of Jesus, and also maybe we can amass a great army to defeat the liberal agenda of forward progress!
Sarah Palin is awesome. The end. Send this on to everyone you know so that we can amass a great army to defeat the liberal agenda of forward progress!
Guys, I love Jesus and America, but if there is anything in this world that’s going to turn me into salvation hating French citizen, its these emails. Seriously, I break a commandment every time I get one, just out of spite.
The Read My Blog/Watch My YouTube Video Mass Emailer
Disclaimer: I love being a blogger. I really do. I love having a place to share all of the scary thoughts that swirl around in my brain space. I love getting emails from other bloggers and people who just read this for fun (or to feel normal in comparison, whatever). It makes me totally happy.
Now, that being said, jillian@pilgrimcongress.com has somehow ended up on a unusual amount of mass email lists. Inevitably I get these emails from people who I’ve had no prior contact with, and generally they are about this HILARIOUS video I need to watch, or an AWESOME giveaway on someone’s site. A few tips for those people: Your kid jumping on a trampoline and falling off is not hilarious, its neglectful. And a little hilarious, but only if he breaks something. But even if he breaks something I’m not really interested, and if I were I would just go to YouTube and type in “neglectful parent with camcorder scars child for life via bouncing apparatus.” Also, I love giveaways. I dig it. Its awesome. That being said, if I don’t read your blog already, I’m probably not going to start because you’re giving away monogrammed stationary from your Etsy store. Now, if you were giving away monogrammed televisions… Either way though, really and truly, if we’ve never had any interaction and I get an email from you addressed to a billion other people, your giveaway could be for a monogrammed picture of Stone Phillip’s penis and I’d still delete it because that shit is spam.
The Socially Retarded Friend of Your Spouse Who Has No Tact And Who Makes You Want To Harm Yourself Mass Emailer
Is this just me?
Ben has this friend who we’ll call Paul. I’m pretty sure Paul is mentally challenged as a result of a being pummeled in the head as a child. With oranges. By his mother. This is the only explanation for the email forwards that Paul sends out daily. Emails about how women should not be allowed in the workplace. Emails that he sends to me, a woman, at my work email address. Emails about how fat chicks are gross, and the various noises that erupt from their bodies during sexual intercourse. That come to my professional email address. At my very conservative company. Emails about the best way to cheat on your wife. That he sends to me, his friend’s wife. Oh sir, you are the most offensive mass emailer of all. Jesus hates you. He told me in an email that I subsequently forwarded to everyone you know.
P.S. Thanks Krista.
Funny story, my dad once got a letter from Stephen King’s lawyers informing my father that he was to cease and desist in sending mail to the author. What precipitated this letter, you ask? Well, my father thought it would be hilarious to send Mr. King a series of letters claiming that the ideas for It, The Shining, and The Stand had been stolen from my father via some sort of Mainer voodoo on the part of Stephen King. As it turns out Stephen King’s lawyers did not think this was in the least funny and were, instead, quite frightened. This blog series is inspired by those letters.
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Dearest Stone Phillips,
I am writing first and foremost to inform you that I received your message. I will admit that I gave up on us a long time ago. Once you were fired from NBC I had to come to terms with the fact that you were no longer going to visit my house, late at night, with softcore news stories about meth labs in middle America and three legged cats also in middle America and all manner of other things that happen in middle America . I even married another man, albeit another man who bares a striking resemblance to a younger you. In my defense, I only married Ben after he agreed to let me name our first child, regardless of gender, Stone.
But now everything is different. Yesterday I saw a rerun of Dateline and it included a segment about your personal life, specifically about how much you love your dad and how you grew up on a ranch or something. I know now that this particular rerun was meant to be viewed by me. As I was watching, riveted, I heard a disembodied voice telling me that this was a message from you, a message meant only for me. Stone, I will not disappoint you. I will be joining you in New York in just a few short days.
I want to assure you that I completely understood the message you were trying to telepathically communicate. The episode featured a piece about the over-prescription of medications in this country, so the first thing I did was stop taking all of my meds. There was also a segment on automatic weapons and gun control, and I think I know what you were hinting at there. The final segment was about child molesters, so I’m going to go ahead and kidnap Chris Hanson and bring him to you.
I can only assume that we’re having some sort of bacchanalia which will feature a Chris Hanson sacrifice. Am I, right? Wait, don’t tell me. I want it to be a surprise.
Much Love and Devotion,
Jillian Pilgrim
P.S. I made a little something for you. I hope you like it.
If I were independently wealthy I would totally be a recluse. I think I would be awesome at it. I would be able to dedicate all of my time to cleaning and developing my neurosis. I realize that most people dream of a life where they could easily afford to travel all the time and enjoy nice restaurants, etc. I like these things in theory, but not so much in practice. For example, I always think I want to go to a nice new restaurant, but then Ben and I will sit down to order and I’ll start to calculate the odds that someone in that kitchen has neglected to properly wash their hands, or has coughed near the food, or secretly harbors a desire to kill me and has thus poisoned my food. Every meal I enjoy without dying just increases the odds that the next meal will be the one that finally does me in. Thinking like this is highly indicative of a successful future as a recluse.
As such I have been working on a plan to become wealthy enough to buy a large estate with extensive grounds that include a hedge maze. (Side note: Is it weird that my dream home is largely based on Kubrick’s interpretation of the hotel in The Shining?) This brings me to my big reveal: Internet, I have decided to start my own business. A prostitution ring/child care service. My thinking is that there are lots of single moms and dads out there who are in need of physical love and a babysitter. These parents on the go don’t have time for things like “dating” or “interviewing quality daycare providers.” So, here’s a solution! A sexy man or woman shows up at your house in the morning, he or she provides some dirty adult services of your choosing, then you go to work and the sexy man or lady provides some clean child services of your choosing. The hourly prices are a little more than you might normally pay for a good hooker, but still less than you would pay for a highly qualified nanny.
If you are interested in an employment opportunity, please email me with your qualifications, including sex acts performed and maximum number of children you’ll mind at one time. If you are interested in becoming a customer of Totally Legitimate Babysitting Services , please email me and I’ll send you some more detailed information. If you are interested in turning this into a cheeky sitcom with a title like Debbie Does Daycare or Spunky Screwya (these may actually be better porn titles, I tend to work a little blue), please send me money.
Holden Caulfield.
I have a real job that is not blogging related. That real job is sending me to the Manila. In the Philippines. In Asia. And I have so much to say about it, but since I don’t blog about work I’ll just say in March expect some super awesome international blogging. Primarily about sexy Asian ladies. And maybe delicious ice cream. Possibly together for my submission to Penthouse.
So, in lieu of actually talking about why I’m going to Manila, I’m going to talk about how horribly and embarrassingly frightened I am of the flight over there. First some back story:
I hate flying.
Additional back story:
I come from a long line of flight phobics, by which I mean my father hates flying. He’s been on a plane once and he tried to make them land halfway through the flight and he had to be sedated. True story. As a result of my father’s phobia we never took family vacations that involved flying. I didn’t get on a plane for the first time until after college. And it was horrible. Not only for me but for the poor bastard that got stuck next to me on the plane.
Picture this, a 22 year old Jill gets on a plane in Logan headed to Chicago. She is trying to look as normal as possible despite the fact that she is having a giant panic attack. Coming down the center aisle is a rather attractive young man. The following is running through my head (writing in the third person about myself is too hard):
Dearest Jesus, do not let this guy sit next to me. There is a 99% chance I am going to throw up and I don’t want to do it in front of this guy. Please Jesus. I will sacrifice a million virgins to you. And several goats. And possibly some kittens. Whatever you’re into. Just don’t let this guy sit next to me.
And then that dude sat next to me. And I cursed Jesus and vowed to spend my days making derisive Paint images of Him.
The guy sitting next to me was really nice. Probably because he had no idea that I was about to lose my shit all over him.
So, the plane takes off and the meltdown begins. It is epic. It is me, head between my knees, crying, and praying very loudly. My poor seat neighbor is horrified. He looks over at me and asks, in a rather frightened tone, if I’m going to be okay. I respond, no. He asks if I want to hold his hand. So, I do. This is a bad idea. You know how on cheesy sitcoms there is always this particular scene when a woman is giving birth? The one where the woman is clenching her husband’s hand so tightly that she is about to break his fingers? I did that. In real life. To a stranger. And I wasn’t even pregnant.
Subsequent flights have not been much better. And I’m pretty nervous/morbidly curious to see how the 20 hours in the air goes. If I don’t die it will be a success. I’m setting the bar pretty high.
Side Note: I generally do better when I fly with Ben. Because Ben is an airline pilot. Seriously. I married an airline pilot. The irony is not lost on me. Or maybe it is. I’m not entirely sure what irony means.
Oh Internet, how long has it been since I updated you on the state of my mental health? Too long, you say. That’s what I thought.
Let me give you the haiku version first. Still crazy in head. Pharmaceuticals help some. Jesus Banana.
Now for the slightly longer, but still appropriate blog length, version:
I no longer see the sun. I leave for work and its dark. I come home from work and its dark. This is a problem as I require sunlight in order to function/remain not dangerously crazy. So, my body is rebelling. How? you ask. Well, its decided it no longer requires sleep. This is never a good sign. Not sleeping is a precursor to stabbing people totally legal activities. Another bad sign? Not eating. Of course not eating has another, less violent, side effect… sweet, sweet, weight loss. Primarily in my breasts. And there’s nothing a girl wants more than smaller breasts!
Here’s the thing about having an anxiety disorder, it sucks. I wake up with my heart pounding, my muscles cramped, my jaw sore from grinding my teeth. Lame. BUT, don’t despair for me, there is an upside! And here it is, I am so fucking productive when I’m anxious. Maybe productive isn’t the right word. What’s it called when you accomplish lots of shit that doesn’t actually need to be accomplished? That’s what I do when I’m in a particularly panicky state. Its truly scary. See, when a person wakes up in the middle of the night and is in the throes of a panic attack she will not be falling back to sleep for an extended period of time. Fact: There is nothing good on television at 2:00 in the morning. So, what is a girl to do? Well, obviously the logical thing is to read all sorts of obscure and random stuff so that she can shock her husband with her awesome useless knowledge. For example, today Ben and I had the following conversation:
Ben: How was your day?
Jill: Did you know that a coyote in Maine was found to be 89% wolf?
Ben: Huh. Okay.
Jill: And 22% of coyotes in Maine are part wolf?
Ben: Oh.
Jill: And 90% of Maine is forested?
Ben: Lets just say you know more about Maine than I do.
Jill: And wolves. And coyotes.
And then Ben cried because I am so much more awesome than he is. So, I made him this to cheer him up.
And that is why being crazy is awesome. Except for the smaller breasts. You can’t win them all.
Dearest People Who Read This,
My brain hurts, so I’m going to do something a little different today. I’m going to share lots of random thoughts. None of which are related. Well, they are related in the sense that they originated in my brain parts, but that’s it. Essentially, I’m too lazy to work any smooth transitions into this post. My blogging skills are pretty much unmatched.
Random Thought #1
Today I walked into a public restroom that smelled just like peppermint and cupcakes. It was like this bathroom had once been a bakery. What made it smell this way? Its an olfactory mystery. I found it very disconcerting.
Random Thought #2
Hustler Magazine pays like $1000.00 for stories about kinky sexual sub-cultures. This information both depresses and inspires me.
Random Thought #3
If I were a hamster I would be so pissed. Its like your only choice is to live in a glass cage, among your own feces, with a goddamn wheel. Until your 6 year old owner decides to “hug” you, which really means “squeeze you until your insides rupture.” Like there are no wild hamsters. If you are a hamster you’re only option is to toil away in an aquarium, abused and eventually murdered by a child.
Random Thought #4
I would murder a homeless guy for some Fudgie The Whale Cake right now. Like gunned down in the street for sea mammal ice cream cake.
Random Thought #5
I would sleep with Jason Bateman before George Clooney. And Stone Philips before Jason Bateman. And the corpse of Stalin before anyone on the Jersey Shore. Oh, and Ben before everyone. Except for Jesus. Because I’m a Christian for Christ’s sake.
Random Thought #6
The end.
Love,
Jill Pilgrim
I just now had an epiphany. An epiphany so large that I had to share it with the Internet right away.
I AM A FUCKING CRAZY PERSON.
Tonight, as I was going through my nightly ritual of blog reading (aka fulfilling my voyeuristic tendencies) while mentally reviewing my day (aka obsessing), it occurred to me that I’ve crossed over from delightful eccentric to FUCKING CRAZY PERSON.
What clued me in to this transformation, you ask? Well let me paint a picture for you:
I am sitting on my couch, going through my Google reader, eating a 100 calorie pack of popcorn. It suddenly occurs to me that I have never eaten this particular brand of popcorn before. Though this would not alarm those of you who still have your strangle hold on sanity, I am alarmed. I think of the statistical odds of a sudden adult onset allergy to whatever synthetic butter product is on the popcorn. I start to panic, so I do the logical thing and go outside, figuring if I pass out I have a better chance of being noticed and thereby saved if I’m out in the open as opposed to alone in my apartment.
After a few minutes outside I start to laugh at my own craziness and go back inside. Where I continue laughing. Alone. Causing my dog distress and confusion.
I stop laughing and return to my blog reading. As I’m reading, I start to think of the millions of things I have to get done this week. I take out my voice recorder and start to record my to-do list (this is a story in and off itself, the whole voice recorder thing. we’ll table that for another day).
Imagine now, my surprise, when I go to listen to my to-do list before going to bed (also part of my OCD nightly ritual) and it sounds like this:
1. Get paper towels
2. Drop off laundry
3. Boring work stuff
4. Jesus fucking Christ Coco, why do these people tan so much? They look ridiculous. (yells at the tv) You look ridiculous! Its like the strangest sub-culture ever, like I understand cannibals more than I understand these people. And why are all the men hairless? How do you wake up one day and think, “I really need to be hairless. And more orange. And I should see how many times I can say vibin’ in the next 5 minute period.”
5. Book physical therapy appointment.
And so it occurred to me that in one single evening I had:
A) Imagined a fictious, but deadly allergy
B) Taken steps to ensure my lifeless body was quickly discovered when I died from said allergy
C) Frightened my dog with hysterical laughter
D) Accidentally tape recorded myself talking to my dog about reality tv
Just wanted to share.
Fun fact, Ben and I started officially dating just 3 short years ago today. And now we’re happily married! Or at least I am, Ben is chained to the radiator right now, so I’ll have to ask him for his opinion later.
Anywho, its a new year and all that good stuff, so I feel as though I should share my resolutions with you. I assume you’re terribly interested. Its an exciting one. Are you ready? This year I resolve to… something or other. I’m struggling to come up with a resolution. Or at least the kind of resolution you can share in polite company when asked by some stupid acquaintance, “What’s your New Year’s resolution?” I’m think my REAL resolution, which is to catch a wild moose then castrate it then watch it develop devil antlers, would confuse and horrify some of my more uptight friends. So, I feel like I need another resolution, one that is more pc. But I still want this resolution to be something I can accomplish. Here are some ideas I’ve been bandying about:
- Play tambourine in a garage band comprised exclusively of 14 year old boys.
- Conquer my fear of throwing up (this one may require me becoming bulimic, but I’m open)
- Mail Stone Philips one love letter a day for 365 days
- Teach Coco Spanish so that she and I can have secret conversations in front of Ben
That’s all I’ve come up with so far, so I was thinking it would be awesome if you could share your resolution and if any of them are any good I’ll just do that. We’ll be resolution buddies! Our bond shall be unbreakable.
Next topic.
What I Did On My Summer Vacation New Year’s Eve
I am old and like to go to bed early, lets just start with that.
When discussing what we would do for New Year’s, Ben and I agreed that we wanted to keep it fairly low key. Something fun, but not too raucous. We decided on the Boston Pops Orchestra. I love classical music, I love Symphony Hall, done and done. I bought tickets for New Year’s Eve without looking too closely at the program for the evening.
Fast forward to last night. Ben and I arrive at Symphony Hall, we look like this:
Almost everyone else looked like this:
Clearly something was amiss. See, what I had failed to notice when I bought our tickets was that Amanda Palmer, from The Dresden Dolls, was going to be accompanying the Pops. And as such, the audience was full of teenagers dressed as homeless people from the 20s? Or something. I’m not hip, so I could be getting it wrong. Mixed in with the Amanda Palmer fans were some frightened elderly, who also thought they were just going to a nice classical concert, but were in fact walking into something entirely different. Something that involved performance art. And a silent film where some old guy has a baby, then feeds his baby a watch, and then the baby explodes into light, and then the old guy drinks vodka. That shit totally happened. I saw this silent film IN REAL LIFE and was unable to stop laughing. The people sitting next to me did not appreciate my lack of appreciation.
There was a variety of openning acts, some confusing (see above) and some awesome. April Smith and The Great Picture Show played one of the smaller lounges in Symphony Hall and they were awesome. So awesome that I wanted to have my picture taken with them, but I chickened out and just took a picture in front of their equipment while they were on break:
Side Note: Please excuse all the blurry photos. We weren’t supposed to use our flash and neither Ben nor I could figure out how to take a non-blurry photo without a flash. We finally broke the rules and took this photo from our seats:
This was also not appreciated.
I will say that the evening was wonderful. Great music, great people watching, and I got to kiss a hot piece of ass at midnight:
The end.
Unrelated note: I am a finalist in the 20sb Bootlegger Awards for Funniest Blogger. BLOWS MY MIND! For anyone who nominated me, I really appreciate it. You guys are awesome, and it makes my day to see my name in the same category as Lilu, Maxie, Nicole, Matt and Cheryl. Its an honor just being nominated, etc., etc.
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